Kristina Krajclek VfW
Kiki.jpg|Kristina Krajclek, Toreador Neonate|link=Kristina Krajclek =23.06.2013.= Short version? The night I finally decided to go out and live a little was the night that I died. Funny, isn't it? I should become a cautionary tale parents tell their children so they'd focus on their grades. Wanna go out, kid? Well, you better stay in and study some more, 'cause there was this one girl who decided to go out on a school night and ended up dead. Also, no boyfriends until you finish school, kid, or they'll ruin you for all eternity. Literally all eternity. Long version...? It was Midsummer night, or the Festa de São João as the Portuguese call it. Each and every one of my colleagues was already prancing down by the river, sporting flower crowns, getting drunk and hitting people on the head with plastic mallets (that's a thing, google it). And me? I was sitting at home, with my hand slipping and my head nearly hitting the pile of papers in front of me as I dozed off one too many times. Don't get me wrong, I had a really strong work ethic throughout most of my short life, and early summer was the time of year I'd spent in a constant state of panic and exhaustion as finals closed in on me. Some stupid festa was the last thing on my mind. Well, I'm lying. I was actually obsessing over it and the fact that no one invited me. Well, I'm lying again, sure people invited me, but the problem was a certain someone didn't invite me and this little fact was the reason why I was losing sleep, not the finals. You see, up until a few months ago I was the kind of hotshot student who grasped for more and more until one day they'd snap under the pressure of their own ridiculously high expectations. When that happens, some overdose, some break down, some go on a mass shooting. Me? The bane of my academic career was love. Horribly corny, I know. From the night I met him, life felt like it shifted from fifth gear to second. Honors, grades, exhibitions, they all faded into the background. All of the obligations and ambitions I juggled with suddenly didn't matter as much, and I let them all drop out of my hands and crash on the floor. And love blossomed - or, well, at least I thought it was love. I was smitten, and I've never been smitten before. The feeling was unbearable. It felt like sharp little hooks tearing deeper and deeper into my heart, turning all of the nerves in my body into fine strings that tugged and drew me constantly closer to him. I was so trapped I couldn't resist even if I tried, and god knows I haven't. Quite the contrary, everything I did from our first meeting became part of an endless race to keep his affection, or at least his attention... Once I had the whole world to impress, and now I only needed to impress him. Thendisaster hit - he stopped calling. One horrible week passed, and so did another. We've never missed a day without hearing from one another before and I kept obssessing over what have I done wrong to lose his interest. I tried to return to my studies, but that effort was hopeless. My notes and books were previously dotted with post-its, highlights and memos, and now they were filled to the brim with sketches of his wonderful face and figure, smudged by my tears. But despite the crying and whining, I am and always have been an ambitious little bugger. No way I'dever go down without a fight. So I've decided, if he didn't care to invite me to the Festa, I'll be the one to invite him. Maybe he'll find a bit of initiative refreshing? It was a beautiful, balmy summer night, the heart of the city was a whirl of colors and lights, everything seemed so warm and full of life, yet... there was something that thoroughly chilled me underneath it all. It became worse once I skipped out of the yellow tram and headed into the night. People flocked down to the river and the marginal part of the cityturned into a ghost town. The old picturesque buildings resembled ruins in the silence, passing their darkened windows felt like passing beneathhollow eyes tracing my every step, creeping up my skin... A memory popped up in my head. It was early in our time together. He took me to a club. A high-class, exclusive, really fancy club. We cut the line and weaved through the crowd towards a private lounge. It's time I meet his friends, he said. His friends were sophisticated, smart and breathtakingly beautiful. They ordered drink after drink for me, and it was the amount and kind of drink I'd never be able to afford with my meager student budget. They seemed curious about my work, asked a lot of questions and I blabbered on, increasingly drunk, until I was barely half-conscious and resting my head on his shoulder.I noticed one of them stare at me, then start whispering with him in Portuguese. They didn't realize how fast I was learning the language. Permission, royalty, have paid, promise,good material, shaping a „diamante bruto“, if not, he has time to choose. I looked up, sleepily "Choose what?" He ignored the question, but another friend of his leaned towards me and said "Oh don't you know? Our José is getting himself a pet!" "A pet?" I giggled "Really?" "Really" another one said and came even closer "And lo and behold, an imported one, in fact" "Well I heard it was a clumsy puppy, a little dimwitted, too" They kept their eyes on me throughout their short little banter and I kept giggling as the drinks hit me harder and harder. When I stopped, I realized they were still staring at me, intently, and my smile froze. Their eyes, they weren't filled with lust, but something very similar... I got the same queasy feeling in my stomach from their stares creeping on my skin, in the morning I guessed it was because of the alcohol, but then I knew it was a warning that something was horribly off. It felt like a trap. José must have noticed me tensing up at that moment, as he whispered in my ear "Don't worry, love. You'll like it." I shook my head. The walk down memory lane didn't quite help me feel any better, so I hurried towards the house, hid in the darkness of the garden and closed the heavy gate behind me. And the sight of the house was a true antidote to the eerie atmosphere weighing down on me. It was an old, stone house, the house you'd retire to in the summer and have poetry readings and drink port wine at night, then sleep all day listening to the ocean roar... And the garden was really something. A vast olive yard circled by a tall stone wall, lavender and rosemary bushes lulled gently on the breeze, the rustic stone steps wove through the shade of the trees to the thick, old wooden gate… It was a house you'd imagine rich people retreat to when they wish to go "somewhere authentic and quaint". I checked my make up and knocked on the door. As my face lit up at the sight of him, he stared at me suspiciously. He looked almost as exhausted as me, I thought as he dragged me in, locking the door in a hurry. „What are you doing here?“ „I wondered... if you'd... want to see the fireworks? With me? I heard it's, er... Pretty. Like, the whole night sky above the Douro shines bright in a mighty blaze of fire and...“ He looked at me like I've just said the most wildly stupid thing so I just stopped before I even got to introduce the part about lighting lanterns, dancing around the bonfires and jumping over the flames. He moved to the window and started lurking through the blinds. I cleared my throat. „Or we could just... you know...“ This was also met by a silence that made me drown in desperation until he finally spoke: „Did you see anyone?“ „You mean, like... while we weren't seeing each other...?“ „No!“ he snapped „I mean, have you met anyone on the way, did anyone follow you, did you notice anyone at all?“ „Um, no?“ He looked at his watch, then quickly moved away from the window and back to the door.„Good. Now go. The fireworks will start all over the cityany minute now and last half an hour, the idiots are Spanish and probably don't even know that. Be sure to get back home before they end.“ I just stood there and stared. „But... why?“ „I really don't have time for this right now.“ „I don't care, I deserve at least some kind of-“ „Alright, great, I'll take you somewhere nice when this is all over, and we can talk all you want and do whatever schmaltz you like, but now I can't have you here, understand? Go.“ It was just then that I realized he was hiding something behind his back the whole time. I tried to take a peek but he moved away. „What-“ He took me by the hand and led me back to the doorstep. „Wait, was that a gun? Why do you have a gun? Are you in trouble? You do have a permit for that, right? Do you know what the penalty is for -“ The grip on my hand tightened and he looked straight into my eyes. „Shut. Up.“ It was as if I'd taken a sudden bullet to the brain, his words reverberated down my spine and through my body like cascade fire, shaking all of my nerves with horror. I wasn't even aware I'd moved away from him until I stumbled on the door frame and hit the floor, it was a move my muscles decided before my brain could even issue a command.It was like one of those nightmares when the most familiar and benign things suddenly turn foreign and threatening. It felt like a single, bright moment of clarity after months spent in a drug-addled haze. He regretted his little lashing out the moment he saw my reaction, and did his best to lull me back to blissful ignorance. He put on a warm smile and reached out a hand to help me back up, but I winced and moved away, still staring at him with wide-eyed terror. My fear didn't seem to bother him at all, as he came closer and pulled me up, softly saying „I'll call you, hm? Once this is all over, we'll have time to meet all you want.“ He caressed my face and gave me a kiss in another attempt to calm me, but it didn't help. It only made me want to scream. The only reason I didn't resist was because I was too terrified. He took my face in his hands and looked at me studiously „Oh, Kiki. You needn't worry. Look at you. You have promise. Talent, obedience and a beauty rarely seen in these parts...“ His hands lowered, slowly tracing my jugular vein with his fingers, then firmly grasped my neck „I'd never leave you. You're mine.“ Funny thing is, despite the fear and the fact I was imagining how easy it'd be for him to snap my neck, I reflexively responded to his words with such a happy, grateful smile. I felt as if I was recovering after a flash of bright light blinded and disoriented me, as the familiar outlines of the reality I'm used to started falling back into place.He let go. „And don't go running around town without me after nightfall. These streets aren't safe after dark.“ The door closed and locked. Still shaken and confused, I started walking down the garden path, but the further I went, the sicker I felt. As I reached the open garden gate and saw the bright orange light pouring in from the street, my step became more and more insecure until I stopped completely. I had to make that one, final step out of the dark and into the light, but I couldn't. There was something hanging in the air and standing out in a heavy contrast to the fresh scents of the ocean. Then, I asked myself: Haven’t I closed the gates behind me? These streets aren't safe at night, his words screeched like violins in my head, and I felt there’s no place on this Earth more dangerous than this little patch of light in front of me. I turned around to head back towards the house, but before I could move away from the spot, I froze. There was an indistinct sound, something like a drooly wheeze of a sick animal that frighteningly resembled a chuckle, coming from behind me, from the exact same spot I faced a moment ago. It floated just a breath away from the back of my neck. I couldn't help but turn back... Some would scream, some would run, I know much braver people than me would, but I just stared silently into the jagged teeth like a deer into the headlights, soaking in the deformed, wound-riddled face for a few very long moments. It was standing so close I could've felt its breath... Should've. I frowned. It smiled. All of the little gears in my mind struggled to find a fitting response to the sight, but failed to deliver any thought other than: „Well that's not anatomically correct at all.“ And a few moments later: „That's... not a plastic mallet, is it?“ It beat the air out of me, my bones cracking under the impact. After a few quick hits I was a broken ragdoll in its arms. All I could do was watch as it dragged my head closer to its jaws and licked the blood off my face. He'll come, he must come, he heard my screams, he'll come and save me. As it looked patiently towards the house, I realized that was the whole point. But it didn't work. It dawned on me that we were waiting for too long. He should have been here by now.It turned its attention towards me, its malicious smile widening as we both realized it had me all for itself... Suddenly, thunder broke somewhere above us. It shoved me away, screaming desperately from the top of its lungs, and ran off. I collapsed on the floor, unable to move. And then, I saw the sky. Bright red flowers blooming and turning hot white, dying and being born again, turning night into day, burning the moon and the planets and blocking out the stars, filling the whole sky with iridescent light until all of it became a blinding cloud of smoke and explosions pulsating over me. The night sky above the Douro in a mighty blaze of fire. I smiled and fell to sleep. =30.11.2015.= The flourescent lights flickered around us, casting reflections on the grey, glossy marble. Airplanes roared somewhere above the glass ceiling in the heavy rain. We were standing at the terminal, he was saying his goodbyes and giving me instructions on how to introduce myself and play nice in the new Camarilla. Of course, I didn't listen to any of it. I was staring at all of the people passing by, at the lines on their faces and the look in their eyes, blank, sleepy, nervous, confused, happy. Mortals, running around, their biggest fear that they'll miss their flight or that their plane will crash... Mortals, relieved to be rushing home, or excited to be running headfirst into the unknown. Mortals... I never should have stopped being one of them. I closed my eyes and imagined the rain flooding this glass cage and drowning us all. When I zoned back in, I heard him warning me about the Prince. Look, I know the guy's a member of some evil Sabbat clan, but it's not like I'm going to mention it... or how having a member of an evil Sabbat clan as the Prince of the Camarilla doesn't really sound right. At all. I wonder, do the Kindred of Zagreb act like the peasants from The Emperor's New Clothes? „Ah, no, almighty Prince, even though all of the evidence point to you being one of the baddies, nobody would ever doubt you, of course not!“ Well, I'll know soon enough, since I'll be doing it too. Come to think of it, does it even matter if he's a member of an evil Sabbat clan? They're-we're all equally horrible, no matter the clan. Even my own. No, especially my own. Oh how I won't miss any of the bastards. I'd even be happy about leaving if I wasn't fully aware that where I'm heading it'll be the same song, different verse... and if I wasn't aware that one of the reasons I'm leaving is because he got bored of me. My boarding pass slowly crumpled in my hands. Being dead is one thing, I guess it's the same for all of us. Everything is paler, staler, number... But there are some points that stand out in a hue more vivid than any I could ever imagine as a mortal, waking a vigorous passion that shakes through my body and makes me feel more alive than ever. They are so few, but without them, this whole bleak unlife really isn't worth living. My sire was one of them. I know I should boil it down to blood and disciplines, but the lie felt more real than any of the bland or bitter truths I'd have to swallow instead. So why not shut my eyes and enjoy the lovely lie? The lovely lie... How many times did he say it? How he worships my art, my beauty, my mind, my laugh, my hair, my feet, my whatever... It was so painfully tempting to believe it, but even as I happily played along, the truth always lingered... You're just a phase... you know that, right? No, I actually don't know that, what I do know is that he chose me to- Yes, yes he chose you to be his childe, that surely must mean something, doesn't it? Well... of course it does! Oh honey, you're just a novelty... at best. It's just the way you Torries are. Everything becomes boring too fast... And it doesn't help if the shiny new thing isn't really worth the trouble. Would he ever embrace you if he hadn't been put on the spot that night? He'd probably change his mind and find a new, more interesting mortal after he realized your brattiness is not a phase, but a character trait... No! It's not like that, he claims I'm the only one that matters to him, he said he'd never let me go, he wouldn't-! He would. He did. It was just a matter of time till your shine wore off and you became a burden to him. Nothing more than a burden. Maybe that's all you'll ever be, a rash decision, a miscalculation, an embarassing little mistake... „Kiki?“ „Hm?“ „Are you listening to me?“ „Mhm.“ „You do realize this is best for both of us?“ Better for you, I thought as I smiled and stared at him rambling on about the Sabbat threat in Portugal. The Camarilla can't afford a weak link right now. My boarding pass ripped in half. I didn't even get to keep my name. All I ever wanted was to make my name immortal, and I got an eternity of anonimity instead. I was hungry and ready to conquer the world, but now I'll just be stuck at the end of the food chain forever, nothing to win, nothing to gain, just a cockroach trying to avoid being squashed by the big boys... Of course, I don't want to sound too disrespectful about the upsides of my condition. I'm pop-culture savvy enough to appreciate the fact that a tragic incident has given me superpowers. They're the saving grace of being undead. But that's not enough, is it? Nothing's ever enough. And that's the most horrifying thing about us. Even more horrifying than my reflection, the distorted, sallow, sad reflection of my past self, the rot and coldness seeping through its every pore, the monster I've become, the monster he made me, dependant on the life force of others and no longer capable of shining on my own... The vast emptiness hiding beneath it. My being torn in two, one half dead and the other collapsing under the all-consuming vacuum that was left behind... They don't even notice it anymore, they've all learned to live with it. The sky turned darker, the rain poured harder, we kissed and he was gone. The unlife I had known was swept away and disappeared with him, just like my life before that. All I had left were the six yellow letters flashing on the big screen in front of me and the boarding pass torn to unrecognizability in my hands. I stared at one, then the other, and thought: „Shit, what do I now?“ =22.02.2016.= Sometimes I think of the Chantry and I get this faint, fleeting feeling... a sensation in my bones similar to floating lightly above ground... A door drifting further away from my hand and into the darkness... I hear the sound of heavy mallets hammering relentlessly at a steel anvil until the metal under the impact starts giving off sparks... I try to make sense of these impressions, the pieces start to fall into place and the full image touches the tip of my consciousness... just to slip away every time I reach out to grasp it. =06.04.2016.= Unlife became meaningless in Zagreb. And boring. And tedious and dull, dull, dull. Oh my god it's dull! It's so dull that scouting a Sabbat-infested city sounds like a splendid activity. You see, I was handed this lovely assignment as some kind of cruel punishment for nosing around too much, but little did our good Sheriff know I was actually pretty giddy to finally get the chance to get out of my haven and finally do something. Hah, what an idiot. Seriously, does he ever do anything on his own? Or does he just sit locked up in the safety of his home, drooling over his pretentious vinyl collection all night, sending others to do his bidding, then spend every Elysium glued to the Prince's side all like „My sweet Prince, look at what a great job I'm doing, that's all me, right there!“ and the Prince'd answer „Oh my, what a good boy you are! Come, sit on your sugardaddy's lap and I'll give you a treat!“ I bet their conversations sound something like that... And not to mention that the dude's so sensitive he'd never have survived growing up in the Camarilla, nor all of the insults I had to sit through with a smile... I'm boiling like a bumbling teapot over here and he gets to explode whenever he wants, no matter the fallout! And if he completely loses his shit because a two-year old neonate says something vaguely and tangentially mean, what does he do when he faces an angry Sabbat mob? Cry? I mean seriously, the guy's more than ten times my age in vampire years and he still can't even get a reading from objects and places, like, his Spirit's Touch is so bad, he only ever feels anything when he touches himself! Hah, get it? That's why he needs me to do the rest of the touching... I mean, on scoutings! Touching things! Not him¬-! I mean no way I would even – he's not – I'm not – okay, moving on. =25.04.2016.= The taxi stopped and I stumbled out into the quiet night, wincing as the streetlight seared my sight. I made a few steps, but the pavement I stood on was steady as a river raft. Woah. I should not have drank that blood. This is not a good time to be drunk. This must be the worst time for it. I stared at the creepy chapel looming eerily in the moonlight, thought about getting back into the taxi and driving far, far away. Can I just, like, abort both plans and pretend that nothing ever happened? No, I guess not. Ugh, all this drama, and for what? The stupid harpy Symbel, that's the snowball that started this whole mess... What mess, you ask? Imagine this. Imagine being the weakest player on the field among a hoard of butchy, agressive athletes. Suddenly you find yourself being handed the ball and you impulsively start running with it. You know one of the big guys will eventually catch up and beat your sorry ass to death for taking the ball, yet you run wildly like a berserked little rabbit as you hear the rumble of trouble amassing behind you. Yeah, that running little weakling was me, right there, with the finish line a few steps in front of me, the ball still firmly in my hands and an angry mob somewhere out there in the city, ready to smack me down for getting away this far... And I've got to say, it's a pretty damn good feeling, witnessing your own capacity to outrun the seasoned players for the first time. Why have I ever doubted myself? I made a choice, free of anybody else's command, and I know it's a good one. The right one. For me. And that freaky blue-eyed bugger deserves whatever shitstorm hits his city. Telling me art is rudimentary and-and sending me off to a guy who could melt my face off and being a condescending prick... That fucking humanoid ice cube... I made the right decision... The right decision... Yeah... Oh boy, I'm screwed. How did I make the right decision if the side I chose looks like a cookie-cutter villain? Have you ever seen The Mummy? God, I loved that movie as a kid. I always wanted to be like Rachel Weisz's character when I grow up. But I'm not. Can you guess which character I ended up like? Beni. Freakin' Beni Gabor. You know how in almost every B movie you have that one character who believes the antagonist's empty promises of fame, fortune or whatever, and you roll your eyes and groan "Oh come on, no one's THAT stupid to believe his shit!" and we all cheer when that character finally dies because the stupid fucker deserved it? "Oh Stupid One, help me, an ominous, dangerous, evil being, and everything will turn out just fine I assure you" and the idiot answers „Yeah, okay, that's a totally valid plan and you seem totally trustworthy, Mister Evil Being“. Like, who'd ever be stupid enough to say that?? Apparently, I would. =24.02.2017.= „If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream.He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about . . .“ The paragraph sent cold shivers down my spine. I started unpacking, but ended up rereading the first book in the first box I opened instead. Another month, another haven. Is there really any point in unpacking? We're either playing musical chairs with the hunters or we're just plain paranoid idiots. And after all, what's the point of dragging all of these things around if I... I mean, how many of them will I even be able to take if I...? I laid the book down for a moment and slumped onto the box. Get yourself together. There is no „if I“, don't even think about it.My efforts are finally starting to pay off, now I have a chance to prove myself. To prove them all. Formerly mocked as socially inept, now a Harpy! Once seen as a faulty Toreador, tainted with talents that are the anathema of our clan, only to become the Whip, Santaleza's second in command... Santaleza, who saw me as the scum of the earth when I came here, now respects me! I did it. I managed to achieve everything I strived for. I should be thrilled. And yet... And yet. It's not enough. All the prestige and the titles and the ladders in the hierarchy, it's all hollow, insipid and false. It pales next to the hunger, the yearning, the hope, and now that I've discovered a new world that shook the old one in its core, I can't help myself. Heart over reason, is it too corny to put it that way? Especially since my heart is a shriveled-up, rotten dead thing and every bit of romance that idiom might've held gets lost when applied on the likes of me. But it's been that way ever since death gave me my true existence, my true face and my true fate. An unnerving restlessness grips me tight every time I try to settle down with the rational option or listen to a list of reasonable arguments.I can't ignore them, the flashes of hope from the little green light, just like Gatsby couldn't. Only in my case, the flashes of light had a brittle blue tint... I feel the resolve growing inside me like sprouts wiggling their way through concrete. It's starting to suffocate me, the hopelessness of my position, and my bones are cracking under the weight of the possibilities offered in front of me. The words, the promises might be false, but I couldn't care less. They were a door to somewhere completely unknown, to knowledge or horror, to adventure or heartbreak, to discovery or loss, to a whole new world or a world of pain... it was calling me to step out of my little, limited spot of light into the vast darkness and witness what's hidden beyond it... Either stay in this false life to forever drift fortuitously about, or break the illusion and, what frightened me the most,depend on trust. And if I'm wrong?, I asked myself as I opened the book to finish it. . . . It eluded us then, but that's no matter—to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning ——— So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.